


i'm a slave 4 u

by pasdecoeur



Series: witcher works [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, just like this fic title, ms britney spears ma'am i am SO sorry, so gay it IS a crime!!!!!!, they are too gay to FUNCTION they shouldnt be REAL, this is pure crack lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdecoeur/pseuds/pasdecoeur
Summary: “Calling me a bloody eunuch the last time wasn’t enough?!” Jaskier rants, trailing after Geralt into the cold night. “You had to— You had to—”“I’m sorry,” Geralt sneers. “The next time you sleep with some idiot lord’s wife, I’ll just let him run you through with his sword, shall I?”“You could have saidanything!”Jaskier shrills at him. “Did youhaveto tell him that— That I was—”“My Nilfgaardian love slave?” Geralt prompts helpfully.“THAT!”And Jaskier watches, transfixed, as a slow dirty smile curls up the side of Geralt’s mouth. “What? You don’t think you’d like it?”(or, five times geralt and jaskier had to pretend to be in, like, aviolentlysexual relationship, and one time... well.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: witcher works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602823
Comments: 214
Kudos: 6887
Collections: Best Geralt, Bruss, Fan Fiction Addiction, Fics good enough to send to my sister, Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, Math, Why Hello There Significant Other of Mine





	i'm a slave 4 u

**Author's Note:**

> lmao what is this.

#1

“...the face of a cad and a coward, but truth be known, he was kicked in the balls by an ox, as a child.”

“Wh— That’s… tr- _true_.”

#2

Jaskier stumbled into the stables, holding his breeches up by his hands, shirt unbuttoned, a look of complete panic on his face. 

“He’s coming!” Jaskier whisper-shouted.

“Who’s coming?” Geralt asked, still carefully brushing Roach’s coat. 

“The innkeeper!”

“Why?”

“He heard us!”

“And us would be…?”

“Me! And Rosie!” Geralt’s face remained uncomprehending. “His daughter, you muttonhead!”

“You fucked his _daughter?!”_

“Well, I was about to!”

“You bloody idiot—!” Geralt snarled. “We have to live here until the job is done!”

“Right, so unless you’ve got a better idea—”

Geralt covered the space between them in two enormous ground-eating strides, yanked him close with an arm around his waist, and before Jaskier could tell what was going on, Geralt's mouth had fitted over his, open and lush, kissing him deeply, his tongue a hot sinuous thing, fucking his mouth, making him moan, making his knees buckle hard. But that was fine, Geralt simply lifted him up, _oh god,_ propped him against a wall, kissed him harder, hungrier, and it was the easiest thing to wrap his legs around those narrow hips, blood rushing to his cock with a goddamn venge—

“Where in the damned _hell_ is that son of a— oh.”

Geralt pulled away slowly, lowering Jaskier to the ground. The hand that had been gripping his arse stays right there, and he turns to the innkeeper with the hostile glare of a predator. 

“Yes?” he growls, and Jaskier watches gleefully as the innkeeper stumbles a whole step backwards. It a wonder he isn’t pissing himself, poor fellow. 

“G- Gentlemen,” the innkeeper says. “This is— a public area. If y-you wouldn’t mind taking yourselves back up to y-your rooms—”

Geralt’s mouth twists in a snarl. “ _Fine,”_ he snaps, and that’s when Jaskier sees Rosie pop out from behind her father, prettily disheveled, looking horrified. 

Aw hell. 

Jaskier slumps down at the table morosely. 

Geralt arched an eyebrow at him, which was all the conversation starter Jaskier needed to say, “Rosie _dumped_ me!”

“Didn’t know things had gotten that far,” he murmured, tearing into a yeasty, warm dinner roll, and dredging it in the thick, meat-laden stew before tearing off a bite.

Jaskier waved that off. “Well, she turned me down, you know, whatever.”

“You went to her _again?!_ ”

“Well, it’s not like _you_ were going to ravish me, is it?!” he snapped back, low, eyes darting around the dinner crowd for listeners. “But now she thinks I was _cheating_ on you, with _her_ , and she’s _terrified_ of you—”

“Sensible girl.”

“—so _she_ won’t have sex with me, either!”

“That sounds awful,” Geralt said pleasantly. “Next time, I’ll let the innkeeper kill you, shall I? That way you can die of aggravated assault, instead of blue balls. Stew?”

“I hate you.”

“You say the nicest things.”

#3

_**“YOU!”** _

“Oh no,” Jaskier whispered, trying to disappear behind Geralt’s convenient bulk. The market square in Durven was a proper crush, but the wine merchant was advancing through the crowd rather quickly. 

The sword she was waving about probably helped. 

Geralt sighed the sigh of the eternally long-suffering. “What did you do? Sleep with her daughter?”

“Ah, husband, actually.”

Geralt peered over his shoulder, where Jaskier was crouching. “Husband?” he repeated. 

“I’m diversifying?” Jaskier tried. Geralt glared some more, so he added, “Look, you told me to stop pissing off husbands—”

“—so you decided to suck their cocks instead?!” he demanded irritably. The wine merchant was almost upon them. Geralt drew his sword without even breaking eye contact with Jaskier. 

“Well, I _am_ very good at it,” Jaskier said defensively, as the wine merchant roared at Geralt to _get out of her bloody way!,_ at which point his sword seemed to literally blur through the air until it came to a stop, the tip resting in the hollow of her throat. 

Everyone went still. 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you kill him,” Geralt told her apologetically. 

“Oh, what the hell?” she demanded. “He’s bending over for you too, is he, the little slut? He can’t be _that_ good!”

“No, actually,” Jaskier interrupted, peeking over Geralt’s shoulder. “I really am.”

They both turned to him together, and in stereo, snarled, “Oh would you shut UP!” 

He shut up.

#4

“So, Jaskier,” murmured the Lyrian bard, in that snotty, upper-class accent, “who’s your… friend?”

Jaskier’s eyes darted nervously between his former university boyfriend and… the Witcher. “Right,” he stammered. “Certainly, Aedir. Of course I can introduce him! This is Geralt, and he's… He’s… uh—”

“His boyfriend,” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier meeped in horror as Geralt’s arm slid around him, _considerably_ south of his waist. There was, in fact, a hand on his butt. That was a— _God._ Jaskier wanted to cry. 

Geralt shot Aedir a mocking smile. “It’s a bit new,” he told Jaskier’s ex smoothly. “Isn’t it, darling?” he asked Jaskier, punctuating the question with a squeeze of his ass, and Jaskier didn’t even have to fake the hot flush in his cheeks.

“This is all, yes, _very_ new,” he choked out, gaze locked on Geralt’s, and those golden eyes seemed to darken, deepen somehow, and that was a hot, pulsing fist of want throbbing in his chest, another echo of it somewhere lower.

“Didn’t think you went for the blond, brutish type, Jaskier,” Aedir snapped, like he didn’t enjoy being ignored. "Your tastes have certainly changed."

Geralt’s eyes never flickered from his, just dropped lower, to his mouth. “Well, I think Jaskier’s found there are… certain advantages to… expanding his palate. Haven’t you, love?”

Jaskier gulped hard. Geralt’s thumb was rubbing a slow, lazy arc into the base of his spine. It was… distracting. “Y- yes.”

“I see,” Aedir muttered, sounding thoroughly deflated. “Well, I should… I think I spy Mistress Erika over there, I should go talk to… Oh, you don’t care. Lovely meeting you, Jaskier, Geralt.”

Geralt’s hand moved away the moment Aedir had turned his back. 

It was like flicking a switch, a lightning strike of a change, and Jaskier stumbled to the side, heart pounding, dropping sickly into his stomach. _Fuck._

“You had to call yourself my boyfriend?” he asked Geralt quietly, after taking a long drink from his winecup, and after he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake.

Geralt shrugged. “The siren we’re hunting is somewhere in this room, in disguise, talking to the guests, watching, listening. Choosing her next meal. You think she’d stick around long if she heard there was a witcher around, do you?”

Oh. So that was why.

Jaskier glanced up at him, the hard line of jaw he wanted so badly to touch. Geralt’s eyes roved restlessly through the room. If the last few minutes had affected him at all, he certainly wasn’t showing it.

“You’re a better actor than I’d thought, Witcher,” Jaskier said quietly. There was sharp piercing pain in his chest now, like a rapier slid between the ribs. He shut his eyes briefly against it. “Well done, indeed. Even I’d believe that you were in love.”

 _Idiot,_ he told himself.

#5

“Calling me a bloody eunuch the last time wasn’t enough?!” Jaskier rants, trailing after Geralt into the cold night. “You had to— You had to—”

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Geralt sneers. “The next time you sleep with some idiot lord’s wife, I’ll just let him run you through with his sword, shall I?”

“You could have said _anything!”_ Jaskier shrills at him. “DId you _have_ to tell him that— That I was—”

“My Nilfgaardian love slave?” Geralt prompts helpfully. 

_“THAT!”_

And Jaskier watches, transfixed, as a slow dirty smile curls up the side of Geralt’s mouth. “What? You don’t think you’d like it?”

Jaskier’s jaw opens and closes uselessly a few times. He looks both ways down the corridor. There’s no one bloody listening. No one Geralt needs to be acting for. “That’s. That’s not the point!”

“Oh?” Geralt takes another step closer. Jaskier takes another step back. “I think it’s exactly the point.” 

They almost didn’t come to this ridiculous party, until Geralt heard about the missing children from the bartender in the last town over, and then they'd hunted down a changeling, and returned the reigning lord’s daughters to him, and had a damned party thrown in their honor. 

Apparently, meeting a baby-saving hero made noblewomen horribly randy, as Jaskier had happily discovered that afternoon, until said noblewoman apparently ratted him out to her extremely large, _extremely_ volatile lord husband.

Jaskier stumbles into the wall behind him. Geralt flattens a palm against the bricks above his head, looming and dangerous. How has he never noticed how…. big Geralt is. 

“It would be efficient, too. I’d keep you too worn out to chase after those idiot women whose beds you keep falling into—”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests weakly. It’s not like Geralt’s entirely wrong. The last one hadn’t known bread came from wheat. If she hadn’t given such fantastic head… 

“—and none of their idiot husbands would bother me, you can’t imagine how much trouble we’d be saving there.”

“Alright, sure,” Jaskier choked. “That sounds lovely for you, Witcher. But I seem to be getting the short end of the stick here, don’t I?” 

Geralt began to grin even wider, and Jaskier hit his head back against the cold wall again, muttering, “No, no, _god_ , don’t say it—”

“My stick isn’t short at all, I can promise you that—”

“—oh _lovely,_ we’re doing _puns_ now, that’s—”

Geralt took the final step, and then Jaskier was pinned against that wall, chest to chest. He could feel it against his stomach now, a slowly growing bulge, hard and hot, and the words choked in his throat, a sharp thrill of want skittering down his spine. 

“You can check,” Geralt murmured, “if you like.”

“Check the size of your— your—” He choked on air. His whole face felt like it was on _fire._ “How generous.”

Another devastating smile. Geralt’s hand was sliding up his thigh, stroking, squeezing, cupping his ass, nudging their groins closer together… “Mm. I try,” he murmured.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, and there was no blood left anywhere in his body now, he was literally dizzy, that’s how much he wanted him, “oh god, _please_ —”

But what he was about to say, even Jaskier couldn’t tell you, because right then a scream rang out from the ballroom, shrill and high, animal terror in every last echo.

“So,” Jaskier muttered lightly. “What are the chances we missed one of the wee monsters back there?”

“ _Fuck_.”

Jaskier sighed. “Well, _that’s_ certainly not happening.”

+1

A long, bloody hour, and half a destroyed ballroom later, Jaskier watched as Geralt handed over to three young mothers their real babes, with quiet, reassuring words to the fathers, accepting their thanks with murmured replies, smiling when the babies beamed at him, gummy and wide and innocent, utterly unaware of how close the little things had come to…. to…

Jaskier closed his eyes, leaned back against a half-destroyed wall. Didn’t move until he felt someone sit down next to him, heard quiet, easy breathing, felt his warmth.

“We’re really terrible at parties, aren’t we?” he asked dryly, and Geralt laughed, a harsh, loud bark, like he hadn’t expected to laugh just then, in all that rubble and destruction. 

Jaskier turned to his side, looked up at him. Nudged him a little. “You did good, today.”

“Hm.”

“Saving little babies from big fangy baby-eating monsters: it’s going to make a brilliant song.”

Geralt huffed another laugh. “Un- _believ-_ able.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier said. “You’re going to be in demand tonight,” he added, and he was proud of how casual he sounded. “Baby-saving heroes, you know, makes all the girls go wild.”

Geralt was looking at him strangely now, all that unnerving focus solely on him, and it felt like looking into the sun — too warm, too bright, too piercing. All too much.

“You should go,” Jaskier whispered, and the words were like knives inside his throat. “I’ll be okay here.”

But then Geralt’s hand was coming up to touch his face, to cradle his jaw, to stroke the curve of his mouth, and it was so unbearably sweet Jaskier thought the pain would shatter past his ribs, would pour like blood out of his soul. 

“But I don’t want anyone else,” Geralt whispered. “I want you.”

Jaskier swallowed thickly. “No one’s watching. You don’t need to pretend you… you…” _You want me. You need me. You love me._ “You don’t need to pretend.”

“Sweetheart,” Geralt said, and Jaskier thought his heart would break, “who said I was ever pretending?”

**Author's Note:**

> AND THEN THEY KISSED EACH OTHER, AND ONLY EACH OTHER, AND NOBODY ELSE EVER AGAIN, AND STAYED GROSSLY, SAPPILY IN LOVE FOREVER AND EVER, THE END.
> 
> thanks for reading! if you liked it, remember to hit kudos <3  
> find me on tumblr [@ **pasdecoeur**](https://pasdecoeur.tumblr.com/)


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